“You’re mad.”
“Quite probably. But that’s not important just now, either. The immediate problem you pose for me arises because I believe you when you say you do not know those words, Walter Day.”
“I don’t know them.”
“I already said I believe you. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“But what does it mean? Exit proboscis?”
“You’ve misquoted me. I think you just told me that something’s coming out of your nose. And, now you mention it, you do seem to be having some trouble breathing. Are you having trouble breathing?”
Day nodded. When he moved his head, he felt the rough fabric against his chin and lips and eyelids. And he felt the stab of pain in his head, but it wasn’t as sharp this time. It was bearable. The fabric shifted and he felt pressure on his scalp, then the hood lifted away and cool air hit his face. He took a deep rasping breath and opened his eyes. He immediately closed them again.
“Is that better, Walter Day?”
“It is.”
“You should say thank you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. And I’m glad you’ve found your manners. Though I did have to remind you.” There was a pause. “But I forgive you that because I remember how terribly stuffy this hood can be. It stifles the senses, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Day opened his eyes again, just a little bit, kept them partially closed and ratcheted his eyelids up a bit at a time, letting them adjust to the light. When they were open far enough that he could see, he was surprised to realize that the only illumination in the cell was indirect, the glow of a lantern in another nearby alcove. He could see the light from it reflected on the tunnel wall opposite his own cell, but everything around him was black.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Jack said. “The light, I mean. It stabs at your eyes.”
The way he emphasized the word stab sent a shiver down Day’s spine. He tried to turn his head to see Jack, but the shooting pain in his skull stopped him. The brief glimpse he had of Jack was disappointing, only a shape in the darkness.
“Do you see me, Walter Day?”
“No. I mean, you’re lost in the shadows.”
Jack laughed, sudden and loud, the bark of a rabid dog.
“You’ll forgive me. I’m a bit giddy today. But I am indeed lost in the shadows. And gladly so. I live in them. You’re merely a visitor.” The humor left his voice and he leaned in closer, though Day did not turn his head. “Tell me,” Jack said.
“I told you. I don’t know the words. I don’t know Latin.”
“No, tell me something else. Do they remember me? Above, in the sunlight. Do they remember Saucy Jack, or have I truly faded into the shadows?”
“You’re forgotten. No one remembers you in the slightest.”
Day heard Jack move, sitting back, his body creaking like old leather and rotting wood.
“No, I don’t believe you this time, Walter Day. I think they do remember me. I think I still frighten them. Am I a tale told to children to keep them in their beds? Do they see me at the back of their closets, under their beds, following them in the street at dusk?”
“Yes, if you must know. Yes. You ruined everything. You took away their trust and security. Does that make you ashamed? That you damaged the city so badly that nobody will ever feel safe again? Or does it make you happy?”
“Oh, it makes me very happy, indeed. Thank you.”
“The best thing you can do for everyone in London is to die.”
“If only I could. But gods don’t die, Walter Day. They step back into the shadows they came from and they watch. You know, you have a lump on your head. I think perhaps I put it there when I hit you. I apologize for that. But how was I to know we’d become friends?”
“I forgive you,” Day said.
This time Jack’s laughter was deep and sincere, even friendly. It rolled around the cell and boomed down the tunnel. It was the laughter of a delighted and indulgent father.
“Oh, Walter Day, you do amuse me. I think I’m going to let you keep your tongue.”
Day said nothing. He was afraid to speak. He didn’t know whether to take Jack literally. Did he mean that Day was free to speak? Or did he mean that he might actually cut the tongue out of his mouth?
“The tailor no longer amuses me,” Jack said. “I’ve grown bored of him. Of course, he couldn’t say anything of interest these days, even if he wanted to.”
“Tailor?”
“I believe you know him.”
“You mean Cinderhouse?”
“Clever boy, Walter Day. That is exactly who I mean.”
“You cut out his tongue?”
“I did alter him a bit. That’s a joke about tailoring. I’m sorry it’s not a better one.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“I do.”
“Will you tell me?”
“What would you do with that information? You’re here, he’s there. I’m afraid it would be a useless gesture, were I to give you his location.”
“I was looking for him down here. I wasn’t looking for you. I didn’t know you were here or even that you were still alive.”
“So it was the Fates that brought us together. Do you suppose those three fine ladies speak Latin? Perhaps they could translate my phrase for me.”
“How do you know him? Cinderhouse, I mean? Did he come for you? Did he help you kill those women a year ago?”
“The Fates at work again, those weird sisters. I suppose you could say the tailor works for me. Like those policemen work for you. The ones who will be coming to find you here.”
“Are they coming?”
“You said they were.”
“They don’t work for me.”
“They should. You’re smarter than they are. Take the power that is yours to take, Walter Day.”
“There’s no power. We work together. We’re the Murder Squad.”
“Oh, yet another gentlemen’s society. You people are so keen on those. Still, I don’t see them here, the other policemen. I see you here. You were the only one smart enough to find me. You, who are wholly removed from that gentleman’s club of torturers, the Karstphanomen. You, who have braved the darkness. Walter Day, you are the Murder Squad. At least, all of it that matters to me.”
“Sergeant Hammersmith will come. He will find me.”
“Hammersmith? Who is he?”
“A better policeman than I am.”
“Better than the great Walter Day? This I must see. And yet he is your sergeant. You are his superior.”
“I’m no one’s superior.”
“Someone has taught you too much humility. Who was that? Who did that to you? You must have been a child to have learnt it so deep in your bones. Your father, was he in service?”
“He’s none of your business.”
“Ah, so he was in service. A footman, perhaps? A valet?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he did you a disservice. That’s another play on words.”
“He was a good man.”
“Was? He’s dead now?”
“No. He’s alive.”
“When did you see him last?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hmm. Neither do I. Nor do I actually care. Let me show you something.”
Jack’s hands entered the soft field of light reflected from the tunnel outside. He was wearing brown leather gloves that looked almost orange in the dim glow. They didn’t seem to fit him well. He was holding a black bag. He unfastened the clasp and opened it, drew out a scalpel. He held the scalpel up so that Day could see it, and Day shrank back toward the wall behind him. His chains rattled and clanked.
“I’m having…” Day said. “I mean, my wife’s having a baby.”
“That’s wonderful. But why should that matter to me?”
“Don’t kill me.”
“Oh, this. Well, first of all, if I were to kill you, your baby would still be born. Baby doesn’t care whether you’re there or not, am I right? But second of all, I’ve already told you I’m not going to kill you. You may take me at my word. Your question should be, ‘What else can Jack do with a scalpel?’”
“Don’t.”
“And the answer is… I can point with it. Look at this.”
The sharpened tip of the scalpel moved over the outside of the bag and came to rest under a decoration stamped into the leather.
“What does this say, do you think?”
“Initials,” Day said. “Someone’s initials.”
“Exactly. But whose?”
“Is it your bag? Are they your initials? Your real name?”
“Oh, good guess, Walter Day. But no, these are not my initials. This is my bag. But yesterday it was not my bag. And I would like to know who owned this bag yesterday, you see?”
“A doctor?”
“Well, that’s a good start. A good assumption, I think. Yes, I believe, given the wonderful work he did on my own body, that he was and is a doctor. And our mystery doctor left this down here every day, which would indicate to me that this was not his primary medical bag. He must have another bag. I should be an inspector, shouldn’t I? Do you need a new associate?”
“I have—”
“Ah, yes, Sergeant Hammersmith. Perhaps if I make him go away, you and I might be even better friends.” The scalpel was withdrawn and disappeared in the shadows.
“No. Don’t. Leave him be. Um, the initials on the bag are MBB. So you’re looking for someone who is a doctor and has the initials… Oh.”
“Yes?”
“I can’t think.”
“But you did think. I saw your face. You know whose bag this is. You know my doctor friend, don’t you? You’ve met him!”
“No. I don’t know him.”
“Shh. We’ve told each other enough lies for one day.”
Day heard fabric rip and felt something flutter against the calf of his left leg. There was a bright flash of pain and a burning sensation.
“What did you—”
“You lied to me just now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t speak Latin, but I speak German well enough, Walter Day. Do you know what the word karstphanomen actually means?”
“My leg.”
“It’s bubbles of air, karstphanomen is. Pockets in the earth. These men, this doctor and that policeman in the next cell, and who knows how many others… they call themselves that, and they believe they mete out justice. They believe they do good work while hiding in the pockets of society. Do you believe that?”
“They were wrong to keep you here.”
“Oh, most certainly. There’s no question of that. But what do you think of their notions regarding justice and law?”
“It’s my job to uphold the law.”
“And what about justice?”
“They’re the same thing.”
“No, Walter Day. The Karstphanomen are right about that, right about that one little thing. They’ve got everything else wrong, but they’re correct when they say that the law does not concern itself with justice. And yet, these men contradict their own beliefs. They hide away down here in the dark and do evil things and think themselves good men. Isn’t that silly?”
Day said nothing. He could feel something warm running down his leg, trickling into his shoe.
“Perhaps we should cut the earth away and expose them, pop their bubbles, let them bleed out onto the surface. After all, if they’re so convinced they’re correct, why should they hide?”
“What did you do to me?”
“You won’t die yet. Not of this, at any rate. I said I wouldn’t kill you today and I think it will take a bit longer than that for you to bleed to death.”
“Don’t do this.”
“I must go. But I’ll be back soon to hurt your friend and to talk to you some more. Maybe I’ll even stop the bleeding. I really do enjoy talking with you. I think this relationship is going to be interesting for us both, Walter Day.”
“Listen, let us out of here and I’ll do what I can to see that you’re not hanged.”
“Oh, how lovely of you. What do you think, maybe they’ll let me rot in the asylum? Or maybe they’ll even let me go free! I greatly appreciate your overture of friendship, but let’s wait and see what tomorrow may bring. It’s been a very long day for me and, despite the fun I’m having, I’d like to see the sun again. Then I’d like to visit a lady and get a good night’s sleep.”
“Visit a lady?”
“Yes. I haven’t enjoyed the company of a woman in a very long time.”
“No, please don’t.”
“Good night, Walter Day.”
Jack stood and took a step toward him, blocking the light and casting himself in silhouette. There was a rustle of fabric and the hood was pulled roughly over Day’s face. He heard Jack walk away, his boot heels clocking against the earth. Then silence rushed in and Day felt himself alone in the dark once again.